


A Larger Vow

by marginaliana



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-04 20:57:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16354166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marginaliana/pseuds/marginaliana
Summary: "Tell me a story," the unicorn said. "And you may have a leaf of my moss."





	A Larger Vow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lunarium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunarium/gifts).



I had always liked the forest when it was cool; today there were only thin flashes of heat as leaves shifted above, letting in wavering slivers of midday sunlight. Gwein, beside me, was less appreciative of the chill and kept rubbing her shoulder against mine to generate a little warmth by the friction of our jerkins. She carried her bow and she stepped lightly, her feet making only a soft shushing noise against the fallen leaves, almost like wind. I, of course, trod through the forest like an exhausted pig, but that was the way of things.

I would have sung, too, but neither of us felt much like it. We had been walking for three days now, finding food in the forest and looking for something – anything – to direct our path. There had been so many dreams between us in the past, so many grand plans to explore the elven lands or climb the rock towers of Ongudril. 

Tragically, all of those voyages would require money.

We'd managed to complete a few tasks over the last few weeks and gain the beginnings of a nest egg, but it would take slow, patient work to get enough for the gear to travel further than the edges of the kingdom. We could live just fine for now, hunting and gathering from the forest and doing small jobs for farmers. But living wasn't the same thing as having an adventure or, even better, having a quest.

Because of my clomping feet, it was only when I paused to pull up the strap of my pack more firmly that we heard the faint sound of something moving in the forest. It might almost have been the wind but for the regularity of the noise. We turned together, just in time to see the unicorn step out of shadow into one of the swinging rays of light. 

It was beautiful – but to say that was nothing, like saying that heat was warm. It was not quite as tall as either of us, delicately-built but obviously strong. Its fur was pale grey, but the moss that trailed over it was golden as sand. The moss was neither a plant nor a mane; it had not hung down from a tree and clung while the unicorn stood stone-still, but neither had it grown from the fur of the unicorn's neck. It simply was there.

Gwein raised her bow sharply, pulling back the string with an arrow already notched. I swung my arm sideways on nothing more than instinct, sending the arrow skewing off into the vines.

"Mora!" hissed Gwein. "Do you know how much that moss is worth?"

"I know!" I said. 

"If we got some, we could afford the—"

"I _know_! But we can't just—"

The unicorn turned its head towards us, and we both stuttered into silence. "Tell me a story," it said. "And you may have a leaf of my moss." Its voice was piping and queer – 'like bells,' people always said, but that wasn't right. It sounded too alive to be likened to a bell.

"A story?" I asked. The unicorn dipped its head. Gwein and I exchanged a glance, and then she lowered her bow and we picked our way through the brush to the unicorn's side.

"What kind of story?" said Gwein.

"Any kind," said the unicorn. It folded delicately to the ground, looking up at us expectantly. We both sat, too. "Any kind you like," it added.

Gwein elbowed me. I gave her a desperate look, but I'd always been better at words than she was, so I supposed it made sense. I took a deep breath, scrambled in the back of my mind for an idea; when it came I didn't stop to think of an ending, only began.

"Once upon a time, there were three clouds…" 

_The first of the three clouds loved the world, and so decided to embrace it. It settled over the surfaces of the Earth, curling into the hollows of fallen logs and under the dampened leaves of maples; it caressed the windows of buildings pushed high, their tops now all but invisible; it hugged the hills and tasted the soft, unmoving surfaces of ponds._

_The second cloud loved growing things, and so decided to nourish them. It gathered water from the sea and the lakes and the rivers, drew the liquid all together until it coalesced into a reservoir high above, filled with minerals and nourishment. Then it opened its hands, letting water fall from its fingers in rich streams. Wind drew these into droplets, bulbous-bottomed shapes that pattered against fields and forests and cities alike, seeking whatever grew, whether it be in open soil or clay pots or in the cracks between sidewalk squares._

_The third cloud loved human beings, and so decided to waken their souls. It raised itself up, thinning until it let through fine slivers of sun to scatter against its insides. The sunlight split into colors, some thick and rich, some thin and delicate – all of them gleaming with a joy that could not help but touch the hearts of all those who saw._

_The three clouds met in the sky, greeting each other in their own way. They were friends – different, but friends all the same, and when they came together they brought their gifts to whatever they touched, enfolding everything below them in love._

When I finished, there was a moment of silence, broken only by the faint, distant chirrup of a robin. The unicorn lowered its head, then raised it again.

"A very good story," it said, although the words came out with a sigh. "You may take a leaf."

I didn't yet reach to take one. "Why did you want a story?"

"My mother used to tell me stories," it said. "If I hear one that she once told, I will know that someone has seen her." It clicked into place for me – the way that the unicorn had spoken, the way it walked. Like a little lost child.

Beside me, Gwein's body shook like a plucked bow string. I knew why.

"You may have a leaf as well," said the unicorn, meeting her gaze.

"But I didn't tell you a story," said Gwein.

"Your heart did," said the unicorn. "Just now."

Gwein said nothing, but she reached out and carefully picked a leaf, tucking it away inside her jerkin. "What does your mother look like?" she asked. _A quest,_ I thought. It would be a worthy one. I took my leaf, too.

"Like me," said the unicorn, "though she is taller, and her moss is blue rather than gold."

"We'll look for her," Gwein said.

"If you find her, tell her to come to the pool at the base of the curling mountain. I will meet her there." The unicorn rose to its feet with a grace that was as inherent as its beauty. The two of us stood with considerably less delicacy.

"We'll find her," said Gwein. It was a larger vow, and yet I felt no hesitation when I made it, too.


End file.
